Behind the Armour
by mystiri1
Summary: Reeve didn't really make weapons; it had never been his thing.


When Reeve realised he'd been abducted by terrorists, he'd been frightened, but determined to either escape or hold out until rescue came. It wasn't as if he didn't have plenty of experience with kidnappings, and even with terrorists; most people tended to forget that he'd been a member of AVALANCHE – well, in a more auxiliary fashion than anything else, but still – and saw only the engineer and the executive, the technically-gifted head of the WRO who preferred diplomacy over force. They forgot that he'd been an executive under ShinRa, too, where every board meeting was a battle with metaphorical daggers drawn, that he was the one who gave the hard orders when diplomacy failed.

He'd mostly been planning on holding out, until his captors told him what they wanted of him. They weren't after ransom, or energy concessions. They wanted him to build them weapons.

Reeve's first reaction was despair. He'd thought they had all had enough of war by now, and he still remembered AVALANCHE's first incarnation, which he'd had a small part in bringing down. The WRO had been struggling to build a new understanding of the world order, where people were focused more on improving things for everybody, rather than grabbing for power. Yes, he knew that was ridiculously idealistic, but on the whole it was working, because the average person just wanted to live their own lives without worrying that the world was going to end every five minutes. That despair was quickly followed by the realisation that holding out might not be enough: these guys didn't exactly seem stable, and with the materials they had, it was just a matter of time before they managed to make _something_.

Reeve didn't really make weapons; it had never been his thing. Scarlet was head of Weapons Development back at ShinRa, while Reeve got to work on Urban Development, something much more suited to his temperament. He'd satisfied his more mechanical bent by tinkering with robots in his spare time, and if they could defend themselves, well, he still never pointed out to Scarlet what she was doing wrong with her attack mechs, because nobody was going to expect a stuffed cat to attack anybody. And it wasn't like he didn't have ideas. If anything, that was the problem: Reeve looked at what the terrorists had gathered and immediately had a half-dozen ideas for what would have been terrible weapons, as well as several thoughts regarding the new energy source he'd been working on.

Reeve had the materials and means to get himself out; the trick would be to make sure the terrorists wouldn't be able to use it for themselves. It wasn't that much different from building a robot, really, and if it was a bit scary to contemplate being personally in control of that much fire-power, well, he didn't have the computing power to make a functional AI at the moment. Plus, if he was in control, the terrorists weren't.

That logic held him right until it was finished, until it was time to break out. He almost hesitated, but it had been three days and nobody had found him; with several continents to search, it could still take some time yet. There was also the knowledge that if he didn't use it, now that it was finished, the terrorists would.

He got through the first few moments of battle by concentrating on its performance – he'd need to tweak that, and yes, response was a little slow there – and then it really hit him. It wasn't like calling the shots from a distance, giving the AIs that usually controlled his robots additional commands and direction. He was right there, protected from the bullets and weapons his enemies used by the armour he'd built for himself. It was Reeve who was dealing the blows, who was taking them down. It was terrifying. It was also thrilling, adrenaline rushing through him, a sense of immense power completely under his control.

Reeve didn't tell anybody how he escaped. He locked the iron suit of armour away in his own basement laboratory, and if sometimes he stood before it, reached out to touch the smooth metal surface and remember how it had felt – well, he'd never tell anybody that, either.

Besides, the power source he'd developed while working on the suit was much more useful, anyway.


End file.
